


In The Wreckage

by Curious1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M, Natural Disasters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curious1/pseuds/Curious1
Summary: Dean and Castiel have been rivals ever since elementary school; avoiding each other like the plague. But with graduation out of the way, they are free to put each other behind them and leave their small town for good. A chance stop at the local convenient store puts them on the same path one last time. What should have been a tense passing becomes much more as their town is rocked with the biggest earthquake it's ever seen. Trapped together, they are forced to share each other's company until rescue arrives. And as fear sets in, the boys make conversation to ease their minds. But what could the two of them possibly have in common to drive the fear away?





	1. Chapter 1

The bell to All n’ More convenient store chimed as Dean Winchester walked in. His shitkickers clumped on the tile louder then he’d have liked. Slightly embarrassed, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his noisy entrance. The small shop was empty, save for the clerk and a man Dean couldn’t recognize from the back profile. _ Funny,  _ Dean thought with a smirk,  _ that’s a first.  _

It was common knowledge that Dean was not a one person type of guy. It was also common knowledge that he didn’t care about the consequences. He’d spent the last four years carving out that reputation. All though, truth be told, and he’d never outwardly admit it, he regretted so much of his high school career. He created a person that he wasn’t at all proud of. But the thing that kept his persona as promiscuous was his fear to be without the shell that he’d created. 

“Excuse me.” someone’s terse demand pulled Dean from his thoughts.Instantly he knew the voice’s owner. His teeth ground together. Instead of obliging, he planted his boots more firmly on the tile. He turned his head and sneered at the man behind him.

“You can go around.” he snapped. The kicker was, the other boy really couldn’t. Dean had stopped dead center. And the doorway wasn’t all that big. But that didn’t make a difference, not when it came to standing in the way of one Castiel Novak. 

“There is literally no way to-- could you not?” Castiel asked impatiently. His voice, whenever he spoke to Dean- which was kept to a minimum- held exasperation in it. The tone always pulled at Dean’s anger strings. He turned and stared straight into the pale blue eyes that he’d hated for the last 12 years. 

“Could i not what?” he taunted. Castiel’s face pinched in anger, dragging a small inaudible sigh from Dean. He didn’t need this, not today. It was his last day in this small town hell. He’d meant only to stop, grab some drinks and snacks, and be on his way. No place in that plan did Castiel fit. It was supposed to be a peaceful departure.

“Why?!” Castiel snapped, his bubble of anger bringing a satisfied smile to Dean’s lips. But, as always when Castiel got angry at him, Dean felt an odd curl of attraction wrap around his heart. It was the part of these interactions that he hated the most. And by hate, he really meant it was the one part that confused him the most. 

“Why do you always have to be in my way!?” 

“Relax, einstein, I didn’t do it on purpose.” Dean flashed a tight smile before stepping to the side and beginning his hunt for beef jerky. Although, at this rate, his mind was more on beer.

“Bullshit…” Castiel muttered behind him. Normally Dean would have turned, confronted him, but today, he just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. 

Dean walked towards the coolers, foregoing the beef jerky as he caught Castiel moving in it’s direction.  _ Great _ , he thought. He’d have to postpone leaving until this clown moved on. His thoughts warped, forgetting that he was supposed to hate the boy he’d antagonized. Instead, he remembered the boy's smile, though it was never at him. He thought for a moment about the life he would lead without Castiel. Wondered how he would go a day without seeing him. How would life be without him? Dean shook it off as he reached for the fridge door. There was a reason he hated Castiel Novak; problem was, he couldn’t really remember it. 

 

“How’s it going Cas?” Johnny Pultzer, the middle aged store clerk, asked from behind the counter. His Budweiser hat, dirty from years of use, was always the first thing Castiel noticed when he approached the man.

“It’s going.” He spat. He knew his tone was sharper than necessary, but that was the effect Dean had on him. He cleared his throat, clenched his jaw a few times, and corrected his tone. He was always polite, even through gritted teeth. “Sorry, Mr. Pultzer. It’s been a weird day.”

“You’ve noticed it too?” Mr. Pultzer perked up, taking the hat from his head and smoothing his salt and pepper hair down. “I thought i was the only one noticing.”

“Noticing what?” Cas kept his attention half-heartedly on the man to his right. Most of his focus shifted though, landing on the bane of his existence sneaking drinks from the beer cooler. 

Ever since he was seven, Cas had wished for the confidence Dean possessed. Or at least enough to be able to simply say the word ‘no’. In his family, he had to work hard to please. To gain approval. Ever since meeting Dean in elementary school, he’d wanted Dean’s lack of interest in that whole mess. But he was raised right, or so his parents always said. 

“- and then my chickens have stopped laying eggs. And my dog’s been barking and whining all damn day.” Mr. Pultzer’s voice brought back Castiel fully as he spouted the weird facts about his animals. 

“All day?” Cas cocked his right brow in thought for a moment. “That’s odd. My dog has been doing the same thing. Drove me nuts so bad that i had to send him outside for some peace and quiet.”

“Something’s up.” Johnny Pultzer muttered, slapping his hat back on his head. It was the aging man’s sign that he was done conversating. Castiel admired that too. Not from Mr. Pultzer, but more from Dean. He had a conversation closer too. It was a neck pop followed by him rotating his shoulders.  _ Then again _ , Castiel thought moving farther into the store,  _ that could just be his way of ending conversations with me. _

Dean looked up without warning, like he had sensed Cas’ eyes on him. Castiel made a show out of examining the small toys stationed by the counter. He watched from the corner of his eyes, like he always did. Like he always would, should Dean ever find his way back. 

To himself, Cas could admit that he didn’t hate Dean Winchester. Not by a long shot. In fact it went the other way completely. He’d fallen in love with Dean years ago. So many years that it hardly seemed real when he thought about it. But he couldn’t tell Dean any of that, the man already hated him. 

The shot glasses near his head began to shake. It was soft at first. So soft that it was hardly noticeable, except for the tiny chiming Cas noticed first. His eyes squinted as he listened, trying to figure out what it was. The chiming grew stronger, morphing into a clanking as the shop around him seemed to shake. Castiel took a few steps toward the coolers, wondering if it was just the front of the store. His legs seemed more uncoordinated than usual. His feet shaking.

It wasn’t his feet! Castiel came to the realization as he watched Dean take a few steps back from the beer fridge. He watched the man look down at the drink he’d guzzled and knew he was wondering if he’d taken a drink of something stronger than a beer. 

The shaking continued, worsening. The shot glasses, now behind him, clanked together more fiercely until they began knocking each other off the shelf. Castiel’s head snapped toward the sound in shock. He began to lose his balance as the shaking got worse. 

“What the Hell!” Dean shouted as he lost his grip on the bottle. Castiel watched it smash to the floor. And the shaking still became worse. 

“EARTHQUAKE!” Mr. Pultzer screamed from his perch on the cashier’s stool. His voice rang out clear before an awful roaring took it’s place, blocking and mingling with the sounds within the store.Castiel looked back to Dean, both eyes meeting at the same time. Fear mirrored in them as the boys made their way closer to the middle of the shop, away from the walls that could crush them if they fell. 

As the tremors kept growing, the shop began to shake apart. Castiel could see the ground crack and split near the main road just beyond the store’s parking lot. There was no thought in his head. No thought that was louder than the roar of the quake. Dean had made his way closer to Cas when the shaking stopped. Just like that, the roaring was silent. For a moment. It was only enough time to take a breath. To glance around. 

The next tremor knocked all three bodies to the floor. Dean fell into a rack of chips, yelping as his elbows hit the floor first. Castiel fell into the shelves beside him, knocking their product to the floor. As he fell, he grasped at the other shelves, not realizing they weren’t bolted to the ground. And as the tremors shook, Castiel shouted for help as the shelves collapsed on him. There was a moment, before the metal blocked his view that Cas witnessed fear rush at him. The fear taking the form of the ceiling as it collapsed. 

Just as it had started, the shaking ended without warning. The earthquake ceasing and throwing the town into shocked silence. 


	2. Chapter 2

When the dust settled, the convenience store barely stood. It’s foundation barely stable. Castiel couldn’t see it though. The grey shelving unit he’d hoped would have stabilized him from falling had collapsed with him to the floor. Had it not been for the other shelves he was falling into, and for the fact that he was slim in stature, Cas knew he would have been crushed. Thankfully that wasn't a problem, what was a problem was the complete lack of space he was left with. 

“Dean?” Cas huffed, concerned the other male had fallen to much worse. He tried, while he listened for an answer, to push the shelf above him. The awkward angle combined with the lack of space for leverage left Castiel out of luck. He needed the shelves to be pulled off, pushing was not an option. He tried calling for Dean again, disoriented enough that he forgot the boy’s hatred for him. But surely he wouldn’t be as cruel as to let Cas just sit pinned below something that could shift and crush him at any moment.

Off in the distance, Cas heard the wonderful sound of Dean cursing. Never had he been so happy to hear the man’s voice. Even if it was only curse words that came pouring from his mouth. He called out one more time, a touch of exasperation leaking back into his voice. 

“Hang on a damn second.” he heard Dean snap. He could hear Dean’s boots kicking rubble out of his way as he made his way toward Cas. Castiel listened intently, searching the shelves above him for a crack to see the store around him through. The modest lighting within the building, however, was completely out. Castiel realized it wasn't just because of the shelves above him, he couldn’t see because the lights were out. 

“Cas?” Dean’s gravel laden voice broke through his mild panic. A relieved smile broke over his lips as he answered.

“I’m under here.” he knew he was muffled, the space around him blocking his sound. When there was no answer, he tried to wriggle free again but only succeeded in looking like a trapped fish out of water; flopping about. A small choking sound reached his ears and froze him on spot. Was he being laughed at? Was Dean actually laughing at him?

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Dean asked, peering at him through the opening the shelves had left near his head. Cas craned his neck to look at the other man, narrowing his eyes at the smile pulling at his lips. Castiel pushed at the shelves again to no avail just to show Dean he was trapped.

“They won’t budge!” he grunted with another useless shove. He tilted his head back again to look at Dean and was reminded just exactly what he felt for the man. Contempt ran strong as he watched the man grip is sides in laughter. Cas tried holding onto the feel, but the sound of Dean’s laugh did something weird to his mind. It altered his thoughts, shutting down his disdain. Cas had to fight off an answering smirk before continuing. “Yes, I’m glad I amuse you. Now if you would be so kind-- what are you doing?”

Dean stood near the top of Cas’ head laughing and holding a sleek black cell phone in his hands. The small camera lense pointed directly at Cas. 

“Are you serious?” Castiel’s tone was expressionless as he waited for the laughter to die down.  When Dean was finally reduced to broken snickers, the phone remained pointed at Cas. “Have you nothing better to do than point that stupid thing in my face?”

“What in the hell could I be doing?” Dean clicked the power button on his phone to put the screen to sleep. From his crunched position, Cas watched Dean’s hand’s disappear as he waved at the place around him. “Do you not see this place?”

“No.” Cas said pointedly. He watched the other man’s eyebrows raise in a you’ve-got-a-point kind of look before he crouched down. 

“You can’t move at all can you?” It was the most obvious statement ever uttered. 

“Literally, no space in here. When i breath, my chest touches the shelves.”

“That’s a bit dangerous. What happens if an aftershock comes?” As he spoke, Dean scanned the shelves for what Cas hoped was a resolution. He craned his neck farther, trying to keep the man in sight as he moved away from the shelves. For a moment, Cas thought he would be abandoned until Dean came back into sight.

“Shit looks heavy.” he muttered, pushing against the top near Castiel’s head. He rubbed his chin in thought before speaking again. “When I lift this thing, you’re gonna have to haul ass out of there.”

Cas nodded then held his breath. When Dean disappeared he had only seconds before the shelves began to rise. Dean groaned a bit at the weight but was able to lift it enough for Cas to begin to shimmy his way out from underneath. 

“Shit!” Dean’s curse spurred Cas to shimmy faster, afraid he would be crushed. “You’re not hauling ass fast enough! Move it pretty boy!” 

Cas felt the shelf snag his shirt near his hip and winced as it went beyond the fabric to tear his skin. He yelped as the metal was dragged along his torso until it hit the waistband of his jeans and dislodged. He pushed passed the sting and pulled himself free using the bolt in shelves as leverage. The moment his legs cleared the fallen shelves, Dean let them slip from his grip and the crashed to the ground with a loud crunch. 

“Took your sweet ass time.” Dean mumbled while looking at his reddened hands. As was polite, and expected of him, Castiel apologized and dusted his shirt off. 

“I tried to hurry.” He turned slightly as Dean came toward him, keeping the shallow cut out of sight. He’d been taught to never be a bother. Proper boys were never a burden on others. Not to mention, Dean wouldn’t care in the least. 

“Relax, pretty boy. I’m just giving you shit.” 

“Thank you, again.” Cas mumbled when Dean came to stand next to him. He watched the man rub his hands against his thighs and felt uncharacteristically flustered. The movement drew Cas’ eyes towards his physique, which since they were kids, had been strictly off limits. Not because of any hangups he had, but of the one’s Dean seemed to hold onto. Funny, it seemed the hangups only applied to Cas. 

There was a moment, as Cas looked around him, that he fell numb. No thoughts, no feelings, just a simple observing of his surroundings. And in that moment, he realized one important thing. “We’re fucked…” 

His whispered defeat caught Dean’s attention, dragging those piercing green eyes away from their inspection of his clothes. “Now, now, Cas. It can’t be that bad.”

Both men knew that statement was a lie. Around them laid the ruins of the small town’s only convenience store. If this was the type of wreckage a newish building sustained, what happened to the older buildings that made up more than half of the town?  What were the others in town doing?  _ Others _ !

Castiel looked around horrified at the lack of another body standing within the store. He strained his ears, trying to locate the older gentleman. But there was no sound, other than that of the damage around them. He could identify every sound he heard; leaking water, sizzling electricity, falling drywall. None of those were Johnny Pultzer. 

“Mr. Pultzer!?” Cas called out, sifting through the fallen energy bars at his feet to find clear tile to walk on. There was no answer. 

Concern sparked to life in Dean’s eyes and he followed suit, calling the man’s name and walking toward the back of the registers. With more sure steps, Dean made it to the swinging half door that blocked entrance to the registers. Cas focused on his feet, determined not to fall over something as stupid as a candy bar. So focused on his steps, Castiel missed the utter look of horror that crossed Dean’s face. It wasn’t until he ran smack into the other man’s chest that he broke eye contact with the floor. 

“What the hell?” he snapped, glaring up into Dean’s eyes. “Why are you  _ ALWAYS _ in my way?!”

He went to take a step around Dean, wanting to keep looking for the shop owner. As he tried to skirt around the more muscular man an arm shot out to stop him. Dean simply shook his head, face pale. Panic spiked in him again, gripping his heart tightly. Stealing the breath from his lungs. He knew that face, the lack of complexion. It was the I’ve-seen-blood-and-worse face.

“Dean…” Castiel was afraid to ask. Didn’t want to ask. Just like Dean, he’d known Johnny his whole life. Cas closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath, choking on the dust circulating in the air. He called on his ingrained indifference to loss, channeling his mother’s composure. Turning himself into stone emotionally to refrain from dealing with what he was about to do. 

“I think it’s best we stay out of there.” Dean whispered, his eyes slightly misty. Cas opened his eyes, completely void of his former self. He looked Dean in the eyes one last time and shook his head.

“We have to make sure.” 

 

Dean felt the chills prickle over his skin at the complete change in the man standing in front of him. As he looked down into a generally expressive face, nothing stared back at him. His eyes, normally a simple pale blue, were like ice now. This was the side that Dean hated. The high societal, better-than-thou, emotionless robot. This was what had drove them apart so young.

Castiel made another advancement passed Dean, to move closer to the body of the store clerk. And Dean almost let him. It would have been easier just to sit back, let the man get smack with reality. But he couldn’t do it. Already, he could tell the image was burned into his mind. The color red running through his mind each time he blinked. 

His arm shot out again and barricaded the path towards the fallen clerk. He didn’t even bother looking down, knowing he’d be met without expression. 

“Dean, someone has to check his pulse.” 

“No, we really don’t.”

“Dean,” Cas pressed on with flat monotone. His only other expression within the words was condescension, another quality that Dean couldn’t stand. “He could still be alive.”

“Not likely.” Dean snapped, his eyes falling to Cas’. “You can’t have a pulse if you don’t have a head.” 

He flinched, the image pulsing back to the forefront of his mind. It didn’t matter how many times Castiel pulled the ice king facade, Dean knew better. It wasn’t who Cas really was, it was simply what his parents wanted him to be. And though he channeled them well, Cas was not his parents. And he sure as hell wasn’t ready for a sight that held so much carnage. Hell, Dean hadn’t been ready, and he’d seen his fair share of death. 

“H-he doesn’t have a head?” Castiel’s sickly whisper confirmed what Dean had remembered from childhood. When he nodded, Cas turned from him and was sick immediately.  


	3. Chapter 3

“What do we do?” Castiel asked after the retching had subsided. He wiped a hand across his mouth making sure he didn’t speak with remnants of his breakfast on his lips. He was shaking violently from the exertion of getting sick so many times, but as he stood with squared shoulders, that was the only evidence he was affected. He tucked the last of his tumultuous emotions back into the recesses of his mind; they had no place in a crisis and could be dealt with later. He was so preoccupied with the task that he missed the narrowing of Dean’s eyes. He missed the expression of anger that pulled his brows together. He missed the change in Dean that the change in him had caused.

“You tell me Einstein.”  Dean snapped, his arms crossing over his chest. “It’s not like we have a lot of options here.”

“So we will have to wait for rescue…?” Cas felt his chest tighten the moment the words escaped his lips. He tried holding his composure, coughing to cover up the sudden increase in his breathing. “Surely it shouldn’t take that long. It’s a small town after all.”

“A small town that has never been too mindful of the small shop on it's outskirts.” Dean sounded like he spoke through gritted teeth.  

“People care about this place.” Cas muttered in a matter-of-fact tone and stepped carefully away from the vomit he’d left on the floor. He’d find something to clean it up with as soon as he was sure they were stuck where they were, but right now he needed to busy himself to keep the panic away. He climbed over the fallen shelves that now rested solidly on the floor. He knew it was most likely futile, but still he began a search for a way out. There was no way he was spending any more time stuck in such a small place than he had to, with or without Dean.

“People don’t care about the small things.” Dean shot back softly, following Cas’ lead and beginning a search of his own. His boots clumped loudly over the rubble around them. Cas heard him mumble about the poorer side and instantly tuned him out. It wasn't that he was insensitive, but honestly the subject had no place where they were. And he wasn’t about to get sucked into that argument again; it was one they had almost every single time they spoke. 

“There has to be a way out.” Cas whispered as he climbed onto a pile of shelf and stone and stretched to see out of an illuminated hole in the store wall. The stretch brought his attention immediately to his side and the blood he could feel still trickling down toward his waistband. He winced, afraid to look down and see blood soaking through his shirt. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight for a moment. When he opened them again, he was calm; without feeling. But it took biting his lower lip until his teeth scored through the inside of his mouth, drawing more blood from his body, to get over the sight of his torn flesh. It wasn’t simply a shallow cut like he’d first thought. Although he knew it wasn’t life threatening, he was sure he needed stitches. 

“Yo! Earth to pretty boy!” Dean snapped his fingers toward Cas, dragging his attention only partly away from his side. “I think I may have found a way out… or at least a way to see out.”

Castiel climbed down from his pile of junk carefully, hyper aware of the wound on his side. He pushed through the ruined shelves and products that scattered the floor until he reached where Dean stood balanced on cases of oil. Cas looked up at the man and was struck once again by his attraction.  _ So not the time for this,  _ he chastised himself and averted his eyes from Dean’s slim waist. He purposefully kept his eyes off Dean’s ass and instead focused on the hole Dean said may be a way out. 

“How could that possibly be a way out?” Castiel said dryly. He crossed his arms over his chest and forgot, temporarily, about the oddly timed attraction he’d noticed. “There is no way either one of us could fit through there.” especially not you, he finished silently. He found his eyes roaming over the back of Dean anyway. A tiny spark of heat curled through his stomach but was quickly stamped out.  

Dean looked back just as Castiel’s expression went blank. Cas watched, heart pounding both out of fear of being caught looking and from the thrill of having Dean’s eyes on him.And as the other man narrowed his eyes briefly, Cas averted his own. “I don’t know, Cas, you look slim enough.”

The heat sparked low in his stomach again as he turned his eyes back to Dean. Those warm green eyes were tracing his frame, leaving not even an inch unobserved. It was simply an observation to judge his size, but Cas’ longing for it to be more made his body react as if it were. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice came out normal. “Looks can be deceiving.” he said simply. 

“Not even gonna give it a try?” It was said like a dare, falling off Dean’s smirking lips with purpose. Cas clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut once again. He found his head spinning, his emotions confused. He should be scared, anguished, numb even. In no way should Castiel be turned on, not even minutely. Cas squared his shoulders and stepped up to the oil boxes trying to ignore his closeness to Dean. He motioned with his hand for Dean to get down, then assumed the same position on the oil boxes.  

He wasn’t going to fit. It was so obvious that he couldn’t believe Dean would even suggest he try. But he humored the man behind him and hoisted himself up toward the vent sized opening. His shoulders squeezed through with a bit of effort, which amazed Cas. None of him should have fit. Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled himself further through the opening.

Pain, white hot and sudden, coursed through him the moment the edges of the cement wall met the side of his hip. The long gash on his side burned enough to stop his progress. He sucked in a breath, trying to push past the pain, channeling once again the indifference his parents’ had instilled in him. But as he tried to slide more of his body through the opening, the pain spread from the gash quick enough to drag a cry from his lips before he could stop it. 

“You alright up there?” Dean’s muffled voice sounded concerned, a nice change from the disdain that usually soaked his words. Once again, he inhaled before doing anything.

“I’m fine, but I won't fit any more.” Cas tried to wiggle free, but he couldn’t even do that without clenching his teeth. Each move either bumped or stretched the wound. Even without looking, Cas knew he was bleeding more. 

“Damn!” There was rustling around behind him as Cas tried once more to wiggle free. In his attempts to keep from brushing his side against the wall, he’d actually gotten stuck. Dean smacked his foot before continuing. “Come on out, we’ll keep looking.” 

“Easier said than done.” Cas mumbled feeling a bit sick. He’d always considered his pain tolerance to be quite high, even since he was a child. But the more he wiggled, the more his wound stretched and the more he felt sick because of it. He swallowed hard before calling for help. 

“Help? You get yourself stuck pretty boy?” Dean sounded like he was laughing.

“Yes, ha ha. Laugh it up!” Cas struggled again, cursing when his side took a long drag against the opening. “Look, would you just help me?”

“Ah ah ah! What’s the magic word?” 

Cas rolled his eyes, typical Dean. Through gritted teeth Cas spat out “Please?” and waited. There was silence behind him for a bit, enough so that he began to wonder if Dean was even going to help him. Just as he was opening his mouth to demand he be helped, a pair of hands grabbed his legs and pulled roughly. The open mouth that had been meant for demanding now shouted out his pain as Cas’ side dragged along the jagged cement once again, leaving a smear of blood in it’s wake. 

“What the hell?!” Dean instantly let go of Cas’ legs. “Didn’t think i pulled that hard…” 

Cas was light headed now. His side was throbbing. Vaguely, he heard Dean ask a question, but his ears were slightly ringing. He tried taking deep breaths, but his side burned and robbed him of the oxygen. He made one last half-hearted attempt to wiggle free and knew instantly it was a mistake. The ringing in his ears began to fade, right along with the color in his vision. Everything turned grey as his vision tunneled. Before he lost consciousness he heard a slightly panicked question from Dean.

“Cas? Is this- are you bleeding?” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean stood shocked at the red tint on the white wall near Cas’ right hip. It wasn’t a terribly large amount. In fact, had he not been secretly checking out Castiel’s ass, he never would have even noticed. Funny, Dean couldn’t remember the last time Cas’ ass had caught his attention. But who could blame him? He’d been doing so well with ignoring the physical pull of Castiel for such a long time. But his ass was literally wiggling in Dean’s face. How could he not look?

“Cas?” Dean patted the man’s leg, trying to get his attention. When there was no answer and no movement, worry set in. He tried calling Cas’ name a few times, along with shaking the man’s feet. The longer the silence remained the more worried Dean became. It took only a moment for the worry to spur him into action. He repositioned the oil they’d used as a stepping stone so that his angle was better to grab Cas with. Then with as much care as he could manage he dragged Cas’ limp body from the attempted escape route. As he pulled, the red smear got bigger and an alarming drip began on his hand that rested on Cas’ hip. Had this just happened now, when he’d pretty much dared the man to squeeze through an opening he knew wouldn’t fit them?

“Castiel?” Dean repeated his name like a mantra as he set the body in his arms down. The man stirred; a good sign. “Cas, can you hear me? Wake up man!”

As he continued to pat Cas’ cheek, he positioned him on the dirty floor as comfortably as possible. Dean placed a rolled up band hoodie from the fallen rack near them under Cas’ neck before returning to the blood just above his hip. Dean paused, preparing himself. Blood wasn’t new to him. Not by a long shot. He’d spent many nights cleaning his father up from bar fights; washing out wounds, stitching them- the works. But that had been different. He’d felt it was his dad’s just deserves for being such a shitty person. But this? This wound on Castiel was a freak incident that wasn’t deserved. No matter how cold and snobby his up bringing had turned him. 

“Christ!” Dean hissed as he peeled back the blood soaked shirt. The gash was at least six inches, possibly more. It was deep, too deep for normal care. This was going to need stitches. Dean cursed again. “Cas, man, wake up!”

Silence followed and Dean was afraid he’d gone into shock; assuming Cas had never been severely hurt before. As his thoughts began to swirl around the lack of response, Castiel finally spoke. “You don’t have to shout.” he snapped quietly.

Dean couldn’t help the smile that split his lips ear to ear. He’d never been more happy to hear Cas’ voice in his life. He took a deep, steadying breath and sat back on his heels. “You can’t do that to a man, asshole.”

“Such charming words.” Cas mumbled and tried sitting up. Dean put a hand to his chest to stop him. He felt the heart beneath his palm speed up and narrowed his eyes. “You can let go of me.”

“You shouldn’t sit up yet.” Dean kept his tone calm although in his head he was anything but.  _ There it is again _ , he thought. He pressed his palm a bit harder to Cas’ toned chest and winced when he realized he’d just noticed the state of Cas’ pecks beneath his hands. Dean shook his head, shaking loose all the thoughts of attraction and Cas’ body type. Instead, he chose to focus on the blood staining his hands. “You need stitches. And I think you’re in shock.” 

“I’m not in shock. And it’s not that bad.” Cas countered and brushed Dean’s hand away. Reluctantly Dean let him sit up. He held no reservations about Cas’ clothes and ripped the side of his shirt to expose the cut. He motioned to it before speaking.

“Looks pretty damn bad to me.” He watched as Cas took in the deep red oozing from his body. 

“Crap.” was all the man said as he propped himself against nearby shelves. As he let the sight sink in, Dean got up and began to rummage for a first aid kit. He knew the most likely place for one; the clerk’s desk. Dean paused near the shelves that had fallen on Cas. He didn't want to go there again. He’d already mostly come to terms with the sight of Mr. Pultzer’s headless body. But that didn't mean that he wanted to see it again. Dean’s brows furrowed in sorrow as he thought about the man who lay a few feet from him. He remembered the conversations they'd had on more than one Friday night when he was growing up. In fact, it had been Johnny Pultzer who’d taught him how to stitch skin to begin with. Dean felt the sting of tears.  _ Push it aside. _

With a hard swallow, Dean stepped up to the clerk’s desk and then around the side. Even with his resolve to not look down, his gaze instantly zeroed in on the red splattered around the linoleum floor. Nausea swirled in his stomach, salty and think, working it's way up his throat. The world spun as he faced Johnny’s body once again. His chest burned, forcing him to realize he’d begun to hold his breath but it was impossible to breathe deep. The metallic stench of blood flooded his nostrils with even the most shallow inhale. And the sorrow that flooded him now that he was alone with the body was overwhelming. Dean couldn't move; not an inch. 

The tears were burning hot as they fell down his cheeks. He caught the sob that tried for an escape with a hand tightly clamped over his mouth. He shook, the sorrow wracking not just his mind. His knees went weak, collapsing him to the ground a foot away from Johnny. He couldn't do this. He couldn’t get any closer.

As the storm grew stronger in his mind, Dean lost grip with the world around him. Everything fell away but the red staining the tiles. The shaking grew worse, the sobs uncontrollable. And as the emotions reached a fevered pitch, as the pain became unbearable, a gentle hand came to rest on in his shoulder. Without thought, he turned into the warm living body that offered him comfort. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Chaoticsatisfaction for the help in fine tuning this chapter, and for being the best beta reader I could ask for!! As always, please leave comments if you can. Thanks! :)

Castiel let his body curl around the more vulnerable one in front of him. He’d seen the way Dean had fallen to his knees. It had broken his heart more than the day they’d stopped being friends. He watched as Dean’s shoulders shook, felt the tears fall against his arms. This was not a Dean that he was used to seeing. Then again, these sure as hell were not the circumstances he was used to being in either.

“Shhhh.” Cas cooed softly, stroking a hand down Dean’s back. He kept his eyes on Dean, purposefully avoiding the mess around them. He’d already thrown up his entire stomach- without seeing the body- and left it on the linoleum floor. There was nothing left to expel the mass of nausea swimming through him. He wasn’t going to risk provoking it by looking at Mr. Pultzer for a final time. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

Dean shook his head, back and forth and back and forth, riling his hair to stand on end. Cas couldn’t tell if it was a rejection of what he was saying or a denial that it needed to be said. Either way, it made Cas hurt for him all the more. This man in his arms was more of a child right now; gripping him for comfort and stability. 

“He’s not gone.” Dean objected, hands clenching and unclenching around the softened muscle of Cas’ forearm. For a moment, Cas was struck dumb. He wasn't equipped to deal with this. Emotional responses were not his strong suit, they never were. He’d been shunned if emotion crossed his face at home. His was an air of regal disinterest; the embodiment of stone. 

“He is.” Cas countered. “There is nothing- was nothing- that you could do.”

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes red and swollen from the force of his tears. Anger turned his bright green eyes dark. The sudden change threw Cas off; made him draw back. 

“I should have been up here talking to him.” Dean dislodged himself partly from the embrace, his eyes careful not to wander back to the floor. “Christ, I’m leaving for good and I couldn’t be bothered to stop and chat.”

It was survivor's guilt. Castiel had read about it for a past psychology class. Only problem was that he wasn’t quite certain on how to handle it. Regular grief he knew exactly what to do. That he had experienced more times than he cared to admit. But he’d never dealt with surviving anything that took someone else. 

“You couldn’t have known.” Castiel assured lamely. There really wasn’t anything else he could say. Cas felt himself shake a bit, the shock of it all setting in once again. He focused himself, bringing his mind all the way back to Dean who was still sobbing in his arms. The man shook much worse than Cas, his entire body involved. “No one knew this was coming! Not even Mr. Pultzer.” 

Without warning, Dean dislodged himself from Cas’ grasp completely. Tears still mapped rivers down his cheeks as he pushed to his feet. His eyes kept level with the cigarette wall behind the counter as he stood for a moment. As he began to walk, Cas watched with sympathy as the man’s legs shook with each step until he was finally behind the clerk’s counter. There was rummaging sounds as Dean ducked out of sight. Cas watched with shock clouded interest, waiting for Dean to appear again.

“What are you doing?” Cas finally inquired when the rummaging continued. In lieu of an answer, he heard mild cursing. But as he rose to his feet as well, head swimming from the trauma of the entire event, Dean finally walked back out from behind the counter. He held a white dirt stained box in both hands as he made his way carefully back to Cas.

“We need to take care of that.” he hiccuped, pointing to Cas’ still bleeding side. Cas was torn; he wanted to help Dean work through his grief, but he also really, REALLY, needed to stitch up his side. Before he could say anything, Dean continued. “Please, Cas. Don’t argue about this. Not this time.”

Any protest Cas may have had, died on his lips. He watched Dean- self made playboy, smartass, all around tough guy- walk around the body of the man he considered to be a father. He simply nodded and began to wonder just how they were going to pull through this. 

“We’ll do it next to the beer coolers.” Dean didn’t wait for an answer from Cas. Instead, he brushed passed him, single minded in his task. Cas had no choice but to follow.

“I can try doing it myself.” Cas suggested the moment the two were close to each other again. He heard Dean scoff and felt a familiar twinge of disdain worm back into him. His heart was still open to Dean no matter how much disdain he felt, though he would never tell the muscle head that. 

“The moment you tried to dig this needle into your own flesh you’d pass out… Again.” Dean opened the door to a nearby cooler and grabbed a random can. He popped the lid and drank deep, no doubt trying to drown the images in his head. Cas watched silently; waiting. Dean was right. He didn’t have much of a tolerance for physical pain, with that being said, he wasn’t really worried about the pain at the moment. With stitches came needles... “Sit.”

The demand was said around the beer can as Dean tipped it back again. It was mere seconds until the can was empty and Dean was reaching for another one. Half of its contents were gone before Dean pulled it from his lips and offered it to Cas. At first, he declined, never having been much of a drinker. Dean’s arched brow and emphasized thrust towards him had him reaching out and seizing the can. 

“It tastes like crap.” Dean reassured with a thin grin. “But you’re gonna need it.” 

The smell of the beer got Cas before he even took a sip. It was acrid, stinging the inside of his nose as he tried to convince himself it was for the best. With a swift breath in, he threw back his head and guzzled the remainder of the can. 

“Bottoms up.” Dean said with appreciation at the speed Cas emptied the can. A third beer was pulled from the fridge. The full contents were given straight to Cas as Dean went about preparing things. Cas watched above the can’s rim as he guzzled this second can, trying his hardest to keep his taste buds out of the equation, as Dean began emptying the first aid kit. Dean had been right, it did taste like crap. 

Cas felt the spike of anxiety as he watched Dean extract the stitching kit from the first aid box. He could clearly see the curved needle glinting in the bag as Dean set it aside. Panic began to bubble inside; he was no good at needles. He had quite a short list of fears, needles being at the top of it. He swallowed hard as the little plastic baggy was opened. 

“Crap.” he heard Dean mutter under his breath.

“Crap? What’s crap? Why’d you say crap?” Cas sat straight, spine rigid. His eyes darted between the freed needle and Dean’s surprised, questioning eyes. 

“Relax.” Dean instructed cautiously, eyes squinting at Cas. “I just noticed I don’t have anything to steam sanitized.”

“I-I don’t know what that means.” Castiel was feeling more and more like a caged tiger. His leg began to shake, dislodging some of the extra energy the anxiety was adding. 

“It means I’ll have to use the next best thing.” Dean dug into the front pocket of his faded jeans, fishing out a clear blue lighter. They took a collective deep breath, knowing the process was about to start. “I’ll try to be quick, but I’d rather be neat than quick.”

“It sounds like you’ve done this before…” Cas was trying to distract himself. But that wasn’t the only motivation behind the inquiry. They were trapped, no doubt about it. Even without a thorough look, Cas was confident of that. And there was so much around them that was better off forgotten. Not that either of them could forget. But maybe he could make the best of this situation.

The rasp of the lighter striking a flame made Cas jump. His breath picked up pace, heart began to race more. It was not so much the needle any more, though that still scared him. It was the pain he knew was coming. There was no numbing the area, no anesthesia what so ever. Cas would feel every stick, every tug. He shuddered at the thought.

“I’ve done this a time or two.” Dean’s gaze was far away as he looked at Cas. His face was blank, the memories obviously far from pleasant. Cas watched with growing fear as Dean ran the needle through the lighter’s fire. Even more anxiety washed through him as the thread and needle met. Dean took a moment to find something to sit on before resuming preparations.

“Wait!” Cas all but shouted as Dean scooted the empty red cooler towards him and sat down. Dean cocked his head to the side and arched a curious brow. Cas licked his suddenly dry lips and squirmed a bit.

“I’m just going to clean it for now.” Dean assured, opening a small squeezy bottle. He looked around for a moment and Cas wondered what he could possibly be looking for. His curiosity and fear grew by leaps and bounds when Dean got up quickly and walked down one of the still standing isles. When he came back, there were two bottles in his hands. One was distilled water, the other a rather tall bottle of whiskey.

“Found this gem rolling around near the water.” Dean boasted with a grin. He waved the bottle back and forth a few times until he was closer to Cas. Although Castiel was interested about the bottle of hard liquor and where on earth it had come from, he had more pressing matters in front of him. Again Dean sat down and filled the squeeze bottle with the water. Cas sucked in a breath as the cool liquid was poured over his side. Oddly, for a moment, Cas felt an alleviation in the burning from the wound. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. 

Castiel watched from drooping eyelids as Dean put down the squeeze bottle and picked up a pack of sterile gauze. The rip of plastic made Cas shutter and close his eyes. When Dean dabbed it across the wound, the anxiety returned full force. 

“Are we even sure it needs stitches? I mean it’s not bleeding that bad.”

“Seriously?” Dean rolled his eyes and scooted closer still. As he reached for Cas he simultaneously grabbed another beer. Cas didn’t wait for an invitation, but grabbed it, popped it’s tab and drank deep. He blanched at the taste but was willing to push past it if it would numb the pain even a tiny fraction. 

Cas closed his eyes when Dean grabbed his arm and shifted it out of the way, draining the last of the beer once more. He squeezed the can till it was mostly flat before discarding it. Without warning, Dean curved the needle through one side of the wound. Castiel lost his pride and screamed. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean jumped so hard at the guttural noise that left Castiel’s lips that he almost jerked the needle from the skin. With wide eyes, he stared at Cas’s face in disbelief. There was no stone composure anymore. No lack of expression, no disinterest. Dean could see a mixture of fear, pain and helplessness on his face. He was empathetic toward all of those emotions, but he pressed on. He dug the needle through the wound’s other side and created a square knot that pulled that small section of the wound successfully closed. 

“Move your arm, rest it on the shelves.” Dean instructed because it hindered his own movements, but he couldn’t get Cas to comply. “Cas, man, seriously you’ve got to move your arm out of the way.”

“Can’t.” It was a whisper, so low that Dean had to look up from his current work to make sure he’d actually heard something. When he did, he was struck with guilt for just forging forward. He should have warned him. Dean took a deep breath; on a rule, he didn’t touch Cas. Not even with a ten foot pole. The few times he had, and they had been completely by accident- or so he told himself- he’d felt as though his heart would beat straight out of his chest. 

“It’s just a little movement, buddy.” Dean took one more preparing breath before gingerly grasping Cas’ arm by the bicep and forearm. He felt the familiar static charge zip through his fingers and unconsciously bit his lip. His heart flipped in his chest. “I can’t do it quickly if you’re going to keep getting in my way.”

Dean found his voice to have a much more gentle tone than normal. And if he was honest, it didn’t bother him. He was so tired of constantly being on guard around Cas; especially since it hadn’t always been that way. He couldn’t think about that right now, it was too much of a distraction. Instead, he pushed it aside and focused on the wound in front of him; now completely accessible. 

“I’m going to keep going, alright Cas?” He waited this time for a weak nodded go-ahead before continuing. This time, when he inserted the needle through Cas’ skin, the only reaction he got was muscle’s stiffening and a long low hiss. He paused, just a fraction of a second, to make sure Cas was good. When the other man took a steadying breath and nodded, he continued, this time without stopping at all. 

It took Dean a well focused half hour to completely close the wound. By that time, he knew the beer was giving Cas a better handle on the pain.  _ Lightweight _ , Dean laughed to himself as he cleared away the used gauze. He turned back to the first aid kit, rummaged through it and cursed. There was no antibiotic ointment. Nothing that would kill whatever germs may have made their way onto Cas’ body. Instantly, his eyes slid to the bottle of whiskey he’d placed on the floor. Though he hadn’t had anything but comfort in mind when he’d grabbed it, there was about to be another use for it. 

Dean threw caution against touching Cas to the wind and moved in close. One hand moved up to grip Cas’ arm just below the elbow. The other worked the top of the whiskey bottle till it snapped open. He moved his face in close, hoping to confuse Cas enough that he didn’t ask any questions about the bottle inching closer to his wound. The closer he got, the more he himself lost focus. 

The smell of Cas was just like he’d remembered. Soft, breezy. The familiar light scent of laundry invaded Dean’s nose as he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. There was so much held within that scent. Dean brought himself back into focus the best he was able; gripping the neck of the bottle tighter. Cas’ eyes tracked his face suspiciously, moving between Dean’s face and the whiskey bottle. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean whispered into Cas’ ear, having come the closest to him that he’d ever been since they were seven. Before any questions could be had, Dean gripped Cas’ arm with almost bruising strength and tipped the whiskey bottle. The moment the contents spilled onto Cas’ flesh, another shout rang through the demolished store.  

Cas bucked under Dean’s weight that held him in place as the whiskey poured over the newly sutured gash. He squirmed, an almost constant cry of pain flowing from his lips. The stream of whiskey trickled to a stop only seconds after it had started but the stinging continued after the bottle was lowered. He struggled against Dean with the need to rub the pain away. Dean could do nothing but press into him further. The closeness causing much more than a simple heart palpitation. His entire body felt the effects, like his veins pumped electricity instead of blood. 

As quickly as the ordeal was started, Cas fell silent and still. Dean’s concern pushed him passed any physical response he was experiencing. And as he pulled back, Cas slumped forward; unconscious, again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a very long time since I have updated this fic. I'm sorry, for those who have read it and were left wondering. I'm still working on it, and some day it will see an end. Till then, I hope you can stay with me as I update slowly.

Castiel had been out for quite sometime, though Dean wasn’t really keeping track. Silence had settled around Dean and he found himself pondering the buzz of attraction that was still just below the surface. He tried convincing himself it was simple chemistry, and that anyone would be attracted to Cas. Cas was, after all, the most beautiful person Dean had ever met. But realistically, the mess with Cas wasn’t his biggest problem. No, his biggest problem, aside from the actual earthquake itself, was the bottle of whiskey still in his hands. He’d kept hold of it, for reasons he didn’t want to admit, as he’d cleaned up the aftermath of stitching Cas’ side. Even when having two hands would have made things easier, he’d stubbornly held on. Now, Dean found himself wondering just what sort of consequences the bottle of booze could have for him in this situation.

He tried to reason that it took an extreme amount of alcohol to get him drunk. And even then, he really wasn’t all that rowdy compared to most. Hell, him and Sammy had snuck out many times towards the tail end of Dean’s high school career. They’d always managed to stay out far too long and drink far too much. Yet somehow, with all the drinks they’d manage to keep down, they snuck back in without so much as a single board creaking. Of course, he wouldn’t be asking Sam’s opinion on the matter. The boy never remembered things right, always exaggerated.

Dean froze. A curse spilled from his lips as he sat, pin straight, at the intruding thought of his younger brother. One who had yet to cross his mind, though Sam was undoubtedly alone through all this. Dean reminded himself that being preoccupied was rational because of what he’d bared witness to. The death of a life long friend, the earthquake. He couldn’t expect his thoughts to follow any logical pattern, but even so, guilt set in deeply as he realized he’d forgotten about Sam all together. Nausea worked in a rolling wave through his stomach as he pulled out his silent cellphone. No messages. No calls. No service.

“Of course.” Dean said. He looked around aimlessly, like it would help gain his phone service bars. “No cell service… because who needs that in a crisis?”

The sarcasm dripped from his words as he slumped back, feeling much sicker than a moment ago. He aimed a narrow eyed glance at the bottle in his hand, suspecting it to be the culprit of his revolting stomach. Gently, the bottle was set in the space between him and Cas while Dean went about trying to make a call anyway.

“The number you are trying to call cannot be completed as dialed, please check the number or hang up and try again.” Dean scoffed at the monotone voice in his ear and hung up. As he placed the useless electronic back in his pocket, a small groan pulled his attention away from thoughts of his brother.

The unconscious lump opposite Dean began to stir, slight movements hinting at wakefulness. Castiel’s head rocked side to side slightly as he pulled himself from sleep. Dean mused over the length of this blackout. It was much longer than the one before. More than likely, the sleep was aided by the amount of alcohol Cas had. Such a sheltered goodie two shoes. Dean was willing to bet that beyond this store, Castiel had probably never had a drink aside from new years champagne.

His eyes were lingering too long. Dean caught the wistful sigh that almost escaped his mouth and shoved it back to the dreamy, vomit inducing place it had came from. This wasn’t his way. He didn’t eye passed out men for fantasies. At least not those that had once been his best friend.  But he couldn’t help his gaze from wondering over Castiel again. His eyes roved over the lean frame before him with appreciation. Cas sure had grown into his body. Beautiful and lithe. Dean ran his eyes over Cas’ face too, finally being able to appreciate the maturity of his features. He had to admit, Cas’ face alone enticed him to daydream. Such a beautiful man, a bit rugged with the five o’clock shadow gracing his jaw.

Piercing blue eyes snagged Dean’s gaze and held, catching him off guard. Dean had been assuming Cas was still out, but conscious blue orbs told him otherwise. And though try as he might, the fact that he was caught looking flushed his cheeks with a blush that spread down his neck. Dean was stubborn as hell though. He kept his eyes locked with Cas’, even going as far as to quirk an eyebrow in provocation.  He took pride in the fact that a blush stole across Cas’ cheeks too. For someone so emotionally closed of the majority of the time, Dean could still somehow get to him.

“How long this time?” Cas asked, voice meeker than normal. He shifted again, brows drawing tight as the movement pulled on his stitches. Before Dean answered, he watched Cas’ features flutter through multiple emotions before landing on his ever present stoic expression. The one that surprised Dean the most was the annoyance that flashed through his eyes. What exactly could have annoyed him? Had the fact that Dean was openly checking him out annoyed Cas? Did Cas take offence to it?

“Just about two hours.” Dean eyed the bottle in between them with regret. He shouldn’t have put it down, he knew he shouldn’t have. It would have been a great break in the awkwardness to be able to offer something besides simply staring at Cas. Dean was thankful that Cas took it upon himself to break the awkwardness, even if it were involuntarily.

Castiel’s hand fluttered around his temple, fingers gingerly pressing to ease the pain pulsing through his head. He worked the pads of his fingers in circles, closing his eyes. It occurred to him that the alcohol that was so foreign to his system was to blame. “Ugh, my head.”

“Too much to drink Mr. Lightweight?”

The grin that slanted across Dean’s lips was more provoking than his earlier raised brow. It pushed buttons in Cas that were long collecting dust; no one else had this ability. This ease to which Dean seemed to rile him. His eyes rolled slightly before he let himself indulge in this banter. “Not everyone can have such a high tolerance as yourself. Some of us focused more on our studies than our social lives… Mr. Player.”

It was like the fight drained from Dean. His expression fell, the smirk falling from his lips. His provoking, playful esque insults falling silent. Cas had struck a nerve. A long shielded, soul deep nerve. And it stung. It stung like no other wound ever had, physical or not. Dean couldn’t believe it. He’d been called so many names over the years, both playfully and maliciously. And yet it was this, this small, almost good natured quip. This name that he’d heard thousands of times somehow struck deeper this time. It was only a moment later that it dawned on him, his mind working out why it cut.

“You buy into that shit too?”

Castiel heard the disbelief clearly. It was like Dean had expected him to think something entirely different. “Buy into what?”

“The player bullshit.”

“It’s not like you were the epitome of innocence Dean. I can’t say how many times I heard someone boasting about having slept with you after a party. Let alone how many times I heard of you _at_ a party.”

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe assuming that even with their shared past, with their tumultuous feelings of each other, that Cas would have reserved judgement was wrong. After all, Cas saw only what Dean wanted him to see. Just like everyone else. But there had been hope. Somewhere, Dean had held onto their friendship. He’d held on, and hoped for more. Prayed for more.

“Most of them were lies.” Dean mumbled. He couldn’t think back on that reputation without feeling regret. It had done good to build it, the reputation itself had kept John’s fists to himself most of the time. But beyond that, it did nothing but further separate Dean from the one person he’d wanted to be close to the most. Dean shook the thoughts loose and leaned between them. He grasped the bottle he’d tried letting go of. An old, familiar sneer of self-disgust fell into place in his expression.

A hand shot out to grasp Dean’s. Cool fingers closing over his, keeping the bottle on the floor between them. He didn’t want to look up. There were questions between them, ones he was sure to find in Cas’ eyes. He wasn’t ready for them. Instead, he let go of the bottle quickly, dragging his hands from under the one that grasped his.

“Don’t stretch so far.” Dean scolded, changing the subject. He twisted away from Castiel to awkwardly face the coolers. To keep the conversation away from their past, he continued with instructions. “If you keep it up, you’ll bust the stitches. And we both know how well your pain tolerance is…”

Cas shook his head, but thankful for the switch in direction. They weren’t involved in the past anymore. “I swear I’m not trying to be that much of a bother.”

“Don’t get the wound wet either.” Dean went on, as if he hadn’t even heard Cas’ attempt at an apology. “Keep it dry for at least 24 hours. And obviously change the bandage every once in a while until it doesn’t need a bandage.”

Around them, the building made a slight shift. The bones of it creaking as if a strong wind blew past. Both men looked around, tensing.

“Say, Cas… Do you know anything about earthquakes?”

“I know that aftershocks happen often the first day… but I mean, we haven’t had any have we?

The nod Dean gave pulled Castiel's brows together in concern. Had he really slept through an aftershock? If so, it must not have been an intense one. Cas looked around to see if anything had obtained more damage, but as far as he could see there was nothing that looked different. Nothing except the right wall which looked a bit more concave. A sharper twist than what would have been advisable drew a gasp from him as the stitches tugged again. This hindrance of a wound was going to take a lot to get used to.

“How do you know how to do this?” Cas pointed to his side. _Better yet_ , he thought, _why did I simply trust you to not mess it up?_ “Its not like you went to vocational class for nursing…”

Dean hid the darkening of his features by turning all the way away from Cas with the pretense of checking out sounds from the outside. He couldn’t blame Cas for asking. He would be just as curious if the situation was reversed. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it though. In order to explain, he’d be forced to talk about his father. A subject that was a pass. A hard pass. He sat silent for a moment too long, drawing an unnecessary apology from Cas.

“I was only curious. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s not really prying, Cas.” Dean’s tone was strained, but he turned back to look at Castiel with a forced smirk. He’d meant that statement to be all there was to his explanation. But those damned blue eyes! What was with them and their ability to open the flood gates on Dean’s memories and force them out of his mouth like a waterfall? “My dad used to get into a lot of fights when I was a kid.Bar fights mostly.”

“So he taught you to stitch him up? That’s awful to do to a kid!”

Even Dean was surprised at the bitter laugh that slipped from him. “Fat chance. If John taught me anything, it was how to handle my liquor. And that’s more genetics than parental guidance. No, Johnny  was the one to teach me how to stitch.”

“Why in the world…” As Cas’ curiosity bumped up a couple notches, Dean rushed on to get the explanation out of the way.

“He said he got tired of having to take dad to the emergency room. That he was tired of me calling all hours of the night.” Dean smile was soft, almost tender as he remembered his first attempt. He’d botched it so bad that Johnny had been forced to cut out the stitches and redo them two days later. Dean shook his head and focused back on the present. “I think it was more for my peace of mind.”

“How would teaching a- wait how old were you?” When Dean held up seven fingers, Cas gawked. “Seven? You were taught to sew up a wound at seven?”

“More or less.” Dean sounded so casual, like all seven year olds were taught to administer complicated first aid.

A shudder ran through the room, ground shaking and walls trembling with it’s intensity. An ominous metallic groan screeched out from the ceiling. The rafters shifted slightly as the tremors passed as quickly as they’d arrived. Two sets of concerned eyes tracked the metal moving within the ceiling. There was scraping, a slight sparking, before everything settled again. It was proof that the store wasn’t stable, even without something crumbling around them again.

“Think it will hold?” Dean asked. Cas shrugged and they both looked up again. The worry between them was palpable, thick within the air. They were trapped, but that wasn’t the worst of it. No the worst was they were on the outskirts of town, trapped in a barely surviving building, with the knowledge that even in the best case scenario it would be mid afternoon tomorrow before anyone was out that way. The ceiling groaned again, but only slightly this time. Yet it was enough to solidify the thought in both men’s heads that they wouldn’t have till tomorrow. They’d be lucky if this place lasted through the night if another aftershock hit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget, comment and kudos are always welcomed! :) Thanks for reading.


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